


Death Indeed Discriminates

by Larkey



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Death, F/M, M/M, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larkey/pseuds/Larkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his death, John Laurens finds that Washington's words don't quite ring true. Living is infinitely easier than fretting over those you've left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this wasn't supposed to turn into Lams...but it did. Anyways, enjoy! (This is my first fanfic; also, Martha Manning was John's wife)

Laurens sat up in a rush, terror still coursing through his veins. However, after a moment of pause, he realizes that he is not lying in a battlefield in South Carolina, but instead a quaint, tidy house. 

He appears to be alone, and that puzzles him. Where were the doctors that surely must have been treating him? When he had woken up he had felt no pain, and only a faint scar on his chest had revealed the injury that had caused him to black out. Shrugging, he is about to step out of the bed when a women walks through the door.

"Mother," He breathes in disbelief; she had died when he was only 16 years old, and his last memories of her had been ones of pain and helplessness. John remembered watching her writhe in pain shortly after giving birth to his sister Mary Eleanor, the doctors unable to help her. 

"Jacky," Eleanor Ball smiled affectionally, and John grinned; only his family had ever called him by that nickname. However, the joy in seeing his mother swiftly empties when he realizes what must have occurred for him to be able to see her.

The blood drains from his face, and he turns pale as he struggles to wrap his mind around the fact. He left Alexander. He left Martha.

"I'm sorry." His mother whispers, moving closer until she is sitting by his side. After several moments, she states, "But there is a way for you to see them." She knows. She always knew him better than he knew himself. 

"I'd like that." He doesn't feel happy, he doubts he ever will be again given his circumstances, but he is hopeful for anything that would help dull his pain. John follows Eleanor out the door, and the rest of the house is similar to the room that he was in, small, tidy, and welcoming. 

He clears his throat. "Where are we?" His mother looks back at him.

"This is your home." She replies, continuing to lead him forwards. The field that they walk through reminds him of the South. The air is extremely humid, and he sees clear blue skies throughout. A breeze gently rustles his clothing; he is dressed in his finest: a dark blue coat with a cream trim, a matching waistcoat and breaches, and a simple white frill.

Eventually, they reached their destination, and stood on the edge of a grassy cliff. Looking down, John had a bird's-eye view of downtown Manhattan, and he frowns. "How will this allow me to see Alexander and Martha?". 

He loved both of them, he truly did. Martha was the kindest woman he had ever met, and he adored her. Throughout his interactions with Alexander, John had felt a nagging sense of guilt in the back of his mind. But it was a different kind of love between Alexander and himself, one that John felt did not necessarily betray his marriage; however, it was a relationship filled with too many unspoken words. Since both of them were married men, any signs of interest that they had shown in each other were vague and unclear. In their letters to each other, they were constantly dancing around the subject of their true emotions, but John had trusted that in time, they would figure it out.

Time. How ironic: the one thing he had been confident in was now his greatest surprise. 

"You can't control it," Eleanor began, startling him from his thoughts. "You will only be able to see them at their most critical moments. The dead are not meant to obsess with the living."

"I understand." John sighed, staring at the bustling crowd beneath him. There was logic to his his mother's words, yet he still yearned nonetheless to watch Alexander and Martha for the rest of their lives, to never move on.

As they quietly stood on the edge of the precipice, the scene below them began to change. John saw the office of his dearest Alexander, writing feverishly as always. Eliza steps through the doorway, and says something indecipherable. As he watches their conversation, John realizes that he is unable to hear anything, and can only watch. Eliza opens the letter that she was holding, and reads it aloud. Horror and devastation are present on the faces of both when Eliza finishes reading. She reaches out to her husband, yet he turns away and picks up his quill, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Eliza gingerly exits the room, and John notices the name of the sender on the envelope: Henry Laurens.

He stumbled backwards. "Ah." He mumbles, "they were—my father must have written to them of my death." His mother nods, unshed tears glimmering in her eyes.

"The fact that you were able to see this moment means that Alexander never recovered from your death. I'm sorry Jack." Eleanor's voice broke, but John was already sobbing, berating himself over and over again for allowing himself to die, for becoming a weight that for once rendered his Alex speechless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken me so long to update, but I went back and forth a lot on the ending. Here you go!

Once again, John woke up puzzled by his surroundings. He was back in the room where he had found himself the day before. This time however, his mother was sitting on a small wooden stool next to him. "You were inconsolable yesterday." She murmured gently, taking his hand. "It was for the best that you had time to process, even if it was subconsciously, so I brought you back here." She gestured to the space around them.

John sat in silence for several minutes. Eventually he found the words. "So I guess I'm going to have to wait a few more years before seeing Alexander again?" He didn't think that he would be able to bear waiting any longer to see what fate had in store for his love.

"Not necessarily. Time passes differently here than it does in the world of the living." Eleanor reassured him. "If you wish, you can watch the rest of Alexander's life play out right now." John considered her remark. He was hesitant given what he had witnessed the day before, and that had only been one moment. How would he be able to stand multiple moments that were sure to be just as emotionally charged? But it was his Alexander that he had been speaking of; no matter how painful his life may have been, John needed to know his fate.

"Alright." He sighed, and followed his mother down the same path that they had taken previously. Today he barely took in any of his surroundings, consumed with apprehension for what lay ahead. 

When they reached the cliff's edge, John stared at the picturesque Manhattan scene, willing it to change in order for him to see Alexander. Rather than seeing a single occasion however, he sees a montage of events. 

Alexander is walking alone in the street, conversing with a young women, then giving her several bills. He is pulled into a house by the women, and comes out red-faced with his clothes disheveled. Next, politicians are muttering to each other urgently, pointing at the booklet in their hands: The Reynolds Pamphlet. Eliza is weeping in the Hamiltons' kitchen, papers strewn over the counter. Alexander stands to the side, shame clouding his expression. But before John can comprehend the whirlwind of events, the scene changes yet again.

Young Philip Hamilton is strutting through the center of King's College. A man is seen boastfully reading from a sheaf of papers, and Philip's face contorts in anger. Their surroundings melt to form a dark theatre. Philip is delivering a furious stream of words to the man, then leaves, both with grim expressions. Philip's death: he is shot by the man he was arguing with. Alexander and Eliza sob over his body. The scenes change faster.

Alexander and Eliza. Walking through the streets, their grief evident. She takes his hand. 

The election of 1800. Alexander writing to support Jefferson over Burr. Burr's rage. Alexander and Burr send irritable letters to each other, and arrange a duel. Burr shoots Alexander. Alexander is carried away, and Burr drops to his knees, horrified by his actions. He dies with Angelica and Eliza by his side. The images fade to black. 

John is speechless. Simply put, he isn't sure what to feel of Alexander's life. However, he doesn't blame him for his choices. Of that, he is certain. And right now he's lacking certainties.

He turns to his mother. "Can I see him?" He asks hesitantly. She turns to gaze thoughtfully at the hills behind them.

"Right now he's speaking to his son. Trust me, you'll meet soon." Eleanor shifts to face him directly. "But I have a feeling that you want to see Martha's life as well." John freezes.

"What makes you think that?" He stares at her, uneasy by her prediction.

She gives him a pained smile. "Because you're tired of worrying over the living. You want to know what they went through, and finally drop the burden of uncertainty." John sighs. Of course she managed to articulate his thoughts precisely. However, she was right in that he was more world-weary at that moment than he had ever been.

Eleanor leads him once more to the edge of the cliff, and he peers over. 

Martha is hunched over in their room and fiercely gripping a letter, reminding him unpleasantly of Alexander's own discovery. She quickly scanned its contents then let it fall from her hand, crying out in grief. Shaking her head, she lay a hand on her belly, murmuring words that John couldn't quite make out. He's pleasantly surprised: he hadn't known that she was pregnant.

The room remains unchanged, but the scene inside shifts. A doctor is now tending to Martha as she is in labor. She gives birth to a baby boy. 

His boy is getting married, and Martha beams in pride from the audience. John himself feels tears welling up as realizes that his son will have the life that he deserves, the life which was denied to John.

As his dear Martha lies on her deathbed, their son clutches her hand, and the rest of her family is surrounding her. John feels a wave of guilt wash over him; he abandoned her when she needed him most, and he wonders whether he'll ever be able to forgive himself for dying so recklessly.

Soon, he's once more staring at the streets of Manhattan. He feels uneasy, to say the least. After living without him for most of her life, he has no idea how Martha still feels about him. Hell, he could say the same thing about Alexander. But when he turns and sees her smile, and Alexander's silhouette on the horizon, he feels a true sense of peace for the first time since his death.

**Author's Note:**

> I assumed that since John's mother died in the same year as his sister was born, she died due to birth complications. However, feel free to correct me if I'm wrong; I was unable to find any information about her death.


End file.
